A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots
by DeLa26
Summary: Or, The Lost Bishop Files... Elle-centric. Prequel to "Electric Firefly" and "Just Another Day on the Job," though you don‘t necessarily need to read them for this fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots.**

_Author_: dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to**_ Electric Firefly_** and _**Just Another Day on the Job**_, though you don't necessarily need to read them to enjoy this particular fic (though I hope you do read them!).

_Author's Note_: This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the Heroes Big Boom Challenge, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

* * *

Two figures stand overlooking the city landscape on the roof balcony of the old Deveaux penthouse.

After an unconformable length of silence, the smaller man sighs loudly and pulls out a large manila envelop from his brief case.

"This is what you requested, sir." He shifts his weight nervously, "Most of the information is lost."

His companion raises an eyebrow.

"It was like searching for a ghost, they nearly wiped out all evidence of her existence. But we were able to gather material from various sources…videos, assignment notes, e-mails, from that tech guy. And then the rest are, well, ah, memories."

The other man keeps his eyes fixated on the New York skyline. "Memories?"

"Yeah, gathered by precogs, telepaths, dream walkers, clairvoyance. Memories not only of hers but others who interacted with her. It's unclear what is the truth and what is…fabricated. And even more confusing with the disjointed timeline, point of views, alternative realities, and….the psychosis, all makes it hard to interpret."

"I'll take whatever I can get. I need to know, need to understand."

"Why now?"

"I have my reasons…."

The sun begins to set, a strange dance of yellow, orange, and red fill the sky.

"You know, this isn't going to change anything." The smaller man hands over the package and disappears into the night.

The man stares at the package, holding it gently, almost reverently.

In large black letters, the file is labeled:

**THE LOST BISHOP FILES.**

* * *

_Author's note:_ Um, yeah. A little teaser. Shall I continue posting? ;) Reviews=LOVE!


	2. Chapter 2

**A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots**

_Author_: Dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to _Electric Firefly_ and _Just Another Day on the Job, _though you don't necessarily need to read them for this fic.

_Author's Note. _This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the big boom challenge, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

* * *

Elle used to envision gathering all of the diagnostic books, throwing them into a large pile, towering high in the air, and rolling around in the paper manuals. Using her special ability, she would spark the paper, covering the books with brilliant, hot flames as she burned with them. Elle always figured that this diagnosis is going to be the death of her anyways. Might as well go out with one glorious act of rebellion.

* * *

_Mother, mother, I feel sick _

_Send for the doctor, quick, quick, quick, _

_Doctor, doctor, shall I die? _

_Yes, my dear, and so shall I. _

_How many carriages shall I have? _

_One, two, three, four…" _

**

* * *

**

**Psychiatry Note. Medical Record 00287.**

_Integrated Summary: _

Client is a nine year old girl referred for psychiatry assessment by the Executive Operations department. Upon interview, client presented with flat affect, uncooperative, and had to be sedated after utilizing her mutation towards one of the medical workers. Client recently moved into the Company after the manifestation of her evolved human ability of electricity manipulation. She is the youngest documented individual to demonstrate a genetic evolved ability, other cases typically manifest power during puberty or adulthood in the face of a stressor. Client's father reports that she had lost control of her ability, setting fire to her home and the client's mother and grandmother died in the fire accident. Client is unable to recall the incident and lacks memory of the loss of her family members. Client needs to find regular validation through her father and becomes extremely agitated after separation or disappointment from him. Patient demonstrates immature social skills and inappropriate play ability for her age. In play therapy sessions, she shows very violent themes throughout her play that typically revolve around harming others with her ability, specifically "sparking" other animals, prisoners, and Company agents. During her stay at the program, client has tortured and killed laboratory animals with no evident signs of remorse, she reports that "I wanted to hear what it sounded like when they spark." It is unclear if client's psychological instability has been impacted by her genetic condition. Patient's strengths include her high level of intelligence, language ability, and creativity. Initial plans include for client to live at the facility with her father, continue gathering data via regular psychological and medical tests, begin daily play therapy to help cope with recent trauma of the loss of mother and grandmother as well as develop appropriate social, behavioral, and healthy coping skills. Client to begin genetic test experimentation against the psychiatry team's clinical advice, team to continue to monitor patient's psychological, behavioral, and social responses to anticipated stressor.

_Initial Diagnosis: _

_AXIS I diagnosis:_ 312.81 Conduct Disorder, Childhood-Onset, Severe

R/O Separation Anxiety Disorder

R/O Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

_AXIS II diagnosis:_ 799.9 Diagnosis Deferred on Axis II

_AXIS III diagnosis_: Genetic mutation (electric manipulation)

_AXIS IV diagnosis_: Problems with primary support group, problems related to social environment, educational problems, recent loss of mother and grandmother

_AXIS V diagnosis (GAF):_ 21-30

**

* * *

**

**I am moving when my eyes open…I see the other inmates in their cold, gray cells. They are all talking, but I am too groggy to decipher their speech. In a mirror window, I catch a glimpse of someone in a wheel chair escorted by bruised guards. I glide down through a new hall. Traveling effortlessly. Like an out-of-body experience. I recognize the inmates. They see me too…but don't seem to recognize me. Then I see my reflection in the door window. And I hardly recognize myself. The image of the wheel-chaired person. It was me.**

**I am here… in motion…unstoppable…inevitable…like time.**

**All the kings horses and all the kings men… the emperor's surgeons… put me together again.**

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots**

_Author_: Dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to _Electric Firefly_ and _Just Another Day on the Job, _though you don't necessarily need to read them for this fic.

_Author's Note. _This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the heroes big boom challenge on livejournal, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

* * *

Blood. Sticky, hot, messy, awful blood. The sensation of the thick, warm fluid dripping down her lily white arms makes the newly awakened beast scream a high pitch sound, echoing throughout her consciousness. It's the first time Elle has truly experienced pleasure. Pure delight from inflicting pain, destruction, and death. She spent hours and hours imagining how it would go. Even the most vivid daydreams do not compare to the reality of the actual, glorious event. Her first kill. It is a beautiful symphony composed of the strange sounds of a dying animal mixed with the snapping current of electrical energy and the sweet sensation of burning. The tiny prey is limp in her hands, transformed into a lifeless blacken husk. Darkness fills the eyes of the nine year old sociopath. Innocence shattered, nothing will ever be the same again.

* * *

_Cross my heart and hope to die._

_Drop down dead if I tell a lie. _

People fake a lot of human interactions, but I feel like I fake them all, and I fake them very well. Every smile is a lie.

_Liar liar, pants of fire. _

* * *

Elle was placing tiny gilt-edged chairs around a miniature dining room table when Claude entered. The child ignored him and continued to rearrange the furniture. She seemed completely absorbed in the task, but Claude felt the child's interest, her power, glide over his skin like a cold breeze.

"Why, 'ello there, pup."

Elle looked up at that, one small hand cradling a tiny flower arrangement, narrowing her eyes for a moment at the intruder. "I've never met anyone that talks funny like you."

"I've never met anyone who can spark before."

The child grinned, perfect lips, eyes sparkling. "No, you've never met anyone like me."

Elle had gone back to her dollhouse, ignoring Claude. She no longer considered him a threat.

"You're special, lassie, aren't you? A little firecracker."

The child continues to play with the house, humming a soft tune to herself. The pink dress, blonde curls, childish songs and games. Everything she did was perfect, so squeaky normal that it screamed. Too perfect, too ordinary, like an actor that had her role down- to perfection.

"I'm like you."

"Really?" Her head snaps up in attention, blonde curls bounce around in a delicate dance.

**

* * *

**

**I suppose that I am dead now. Dead again. It's more comfortable this way. Like I'm in a very warm egg. Like in a womb. A new birth. A world without confusion, without loneness. Deep, deep down, there is a quiet place. It's ****not the usual static numbness… cold, empty void. But rather, simply pure relief, peace. I image a thousand silk worms wrapping my mind in a cocoon and I decide to hibernate. **

**I see my mother. She tells me that my journey is over. That I am free. I am squinting, and I think that her empty eyes have become stars. All that remains is her smile. I realize that it is nighttime…and my eyes are open. **

**My head is lurched back so that I'm staring at the sky. Everything is sticky. And I can't seem to move. Dried blood has fused my skin to the cement. **

**There are people scrambling around me. Black suits, white suits, blue suits, green suits. Their mouths are moving but I can't hear what they are saying. The mute button is on. **

**Injections of the special blood. Again, and again. Death is never permanent. Not really. Immortality is a gift, Daddy says. **

**I'm the energizer bunny. All powerful, electrically-charged super agent. I keep going. And going. And going. And going….**

**I have left my shell, I spread my wings, I welcome hell and other things.**

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots**

_Author_: Dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to _Electric Firefly_ and _Just Another Day on the Job, _though you don't necessarily need to read them to enjoy this fic.

_Author's Note. _This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the Heroes Live Journal Big Boom Challenge, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

* * *

_Executive Operations Meeting Minutes._

"Elle Bishop has made appearances in many of my dreams throughout the years.

And in each version, she plays a different role.

**Patient. Company agent. Prisoner. Daughter. Leader. Traitor. Mother. Victim. Reformed savior. Lover. Ruthless killer.**

The unifying thread in every vision, is that she is a broken, live wire that is a threat… A threat sometimes towards the Company…to me and members of my family…or to the greater good…but mostly a threat to our end game.

It is my belief, and therefore my vote, that Elle Bishop needs to be executed immediately."

* * *

"Did you ever think that to the nuts inside, the peanut is like their whole universe?

------I mean, they could fall in love and never be together because the shell separates them.

------So close, but their cruel prison- the shell - keeps them apart.

------It's so sad!

------How they must hate their cruel master, The Shell, caring despoiler of legume romance!

------And then one day, They're free!

------And it's like, 'let's dance, you hot salty nut.'

------Crazy nuts, huh?

------Nuts, get it?"

The new therapist is scribbling notes frantically on his small yellow pad-o-paper. After a moment, he clears his throat and asks softy, "What do you think you have in common with the peanut?"

"Wooooow. I mean, _come on_, it was a story about peanuts. **Peanuts**! Don't read too much into it, doc."

**

* * *

**

**Diary transcription.**

_Dear Diary,_

_Hello. My name is Elle. I am nine years old._

_My Daddy says I am special._

* * *

"I can't hear you…My ears are still ringing from the beating. Music…in my head."

It hurts to talk, my lips are large and swollen, missing teeth. And a broken jaw doesn't help much either.

The doctor repeats herself again, this time I read her lips. "My job is to help you."

"Ri-ght. Who said that I needed any help anyways… you docs are all the same."

Blood trickles down my forehead, into my left eye, blinding. My hands are bound, I can't wipe the liquid away. The lack of control is….so fucking irritating.

"I'm here to be your friend. An ally."

"Wasting your time."

She changes the subject. "You did not follow protocol."

I snort. "Obviously."

"And we need to make sure that you are re-programmed."

_Like a robot_. The thought makes me giggle, but I stop immediately. The laughter brings pain in my abdomen.

"But you need to behave yourself. Prove your allegiance before we can send you back out."

The doctor watches me steadily, "Don't you want to make your daddy proud?"

Well, _that_ was below the belt.

"You bitch!" My body flails around like an epileptic in attempt to claw her eyes out, but the chains keep me well contained.

My vision blurs from the over-exhaustion, and I feel like I'm traveling down a tunnel.

When I regain control, my lips are moving. I realize that I have been talking for some time, but my mind clearly doesn't know what my mouth has been doing.

"The medicine you've been given will help you heal very quickly. It will make you groggy…sleepy. We'll talk when you wake."

Blackness swallows me up as I fall down the rabbit hole.

I wake up to find myself in the place that bad agents go when they die. A place that collects defective operatives.

* * *

_They pick my brain. _

_They wind me up. _

_They find out what makes me tick._

_Tick tock. _

_Turn back the clock. _

_The doc…makes me talk._

* * *

**Telephone recording:**

"Why me?"

"Because you're the best."

"I swore that I'd never go back. Not willing, anyways."

"I remember. But this is an emergency. If you don't come here and defuse the situation, I'll have no choice."

"There are always choices, mate."

"Not here, not now. I write my report and they'll execute Elle Bishop as a dangerous, uncontrollable special. Unless you tame her, Elle won't see her ninth birthday."

_Using the child's name twice in a row- manipulation, a tug at the heartstrings. It worked like it was suppose to._

"Bloody hell. I'll come. It will take me a few hours, but I'll be there."

"Thank you Claude."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots**

_Author_: Dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to _Electric Firefly_ and _Just Another Day on the Job, _though you don't necessarily need to read them to enjoy this fic.

_Author's Note. _I posted one of these shorts on fanfic - _Static Nothingness_- awhile back as a preview for this fic. This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long.I tried to get this up in time for the Heroes Big Boom Live Journal Challenge, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. I'm having so much fun writing this fic. Reviews=love.

* * *

I'd love to help you and tell you what I know.

But I can't tell you anything until you give me back my sparks.

_Out of the question. It would be disastrous to your recovery. We're going forwards…not backwards._

We are going in circles.

Forward or backwards…

Clockwise or counterclockwise…

The hands still strike twelve.

The bell still tolls.

Without my sparks, I won't even tell you the time.

Might say "cuckoo" now and again.

But that won't get you anywhere.

Give me my sparks and we'll talk.

_You're going to have to deal with not having your sparks, Elle. We have a few questions…_

Fine. But, I won't answer a thing.

_You should cooperate. They will make things more or less comfortable depending upon your cooperation._

* * *

"What's it feel like?"

Adam glances up at the intruder, startled by the sudden, unexpected sound of _her _voice.

The small figure glides across the room, movements liquid smooth like a large, dangerous predator. Adam fights to keep his face blank, mustn't let the tiger smell your growing fear.

The petite special moves confidently through the small, gray cell like she owns the place. Perches herself on the metal chair, her blonde pigtails bounce around her soft face. Eyes the color of cold spring skies hold such intensity. Adam picks up that something is frustrating her. He watches the dangerous special cautiously, attempting not to have her irritation projected onto him.

So he sits in silence, waiting for the sociopath to clarify herself. Seconds, minutes tick by. She's staring at the floor, stuck in her head. Adam doesn't want to know what goes on in that dark mind.

"Emotions," She glances up, face holding interest, "What's it feel like?"

Adam states at the young evolved humans, trying to decipher what she's really getting at. Was this a trick? Another one of her games?

He speaks slow and neutral, like talking to a person about to jump off a bridge. "Depends on which emotion, love. They are all a little different from one another."

She cocks her head to the side, blond bands sweep over her icy blue eyes. "Sadness?"

Adam bites his lower lip. How do you describe something so fundamental to the human experience? He thinks about his answer for awhile, and she waits for him patiently. It's the first time he's ever seen her exhibit patience.

Adam sits up and attempts to explain something that is unexplainable "Sadness is a pained experience, a lowering of mood related to melancholy, sorrow, helplessness. When someone is sad, it is like a thick cloud covering your eyes and all you can see is gray. The polar opposite of happiness."

"And what is happiness then?" Her lips press tight together in confusion.

He sighs to himself. "Happiness is a positive emotional state of satisfaction, bliss, and pleasure. The feeling warms you up, tingling sensations that spread from your toes to your head, that brings about smiles and laughter. Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence."

She whispers, eyes wide and open. For one shining second, the dark demon looks vulnerable. "And love?"

"Love is when another person's happiness is more important than your own."

Delicate fingers mindlessly straighten out her black dress.

"I don't feel anything. An empty void of static nothingness." Her voice is bored. It was like she was talking about something entirely different. "Sucky, huh?"

Adam doesn't know what to say. So he remains silent. Maybe if he stays quite and invisible, she'll go away.

The sharp snap of electricity makes Adam involuntarily jump. His stomach tightens painfully in fear, his heart is in his throat. Brilliant blue energy surges between her fingertips.

The child flashes him a wide, empty smile, the mask firmly back in place. Her blue eyes are sparkling like it was Christmas. Her voice is unnaturally playful and bouncy, "But it doesn't really matter. Because I found out how to make it feel…less bottomless."

The smell of burning flesh fills the room.

* * *

**Doctor's Audio Log**.

The medicine we administered to expedite Elle's physical recovery also contributes to her psychological progress. It makes her talk in her sleep. Spiked with a twist of sodium pentothal- it makes her tell the truth. Modern medicine. Liquid hypnosis. It gives me a direct line to her subconscious as does her drawing assignments. Self portraits. Finger-paint. It's too dangerous to give her any type of writing device.

When I told her our files classify her as a genius. She said: "I don't care for labels."

Psychological status is questionable at best.

* * *

Simple rules, roll the dice.

One, single end goal.

Find the lost king of Candy Land.

Travel the winding roads of red, green, blue, and gold.

Whichever place shall I live?

Candy Cane Forest?

Gum Drop Mountain?

A magical world.

Where there are no doctors… tests…or gaping memories.

This is the ideal place to be.

Don't feel anything… when the plastic melts, and game burns to dust.

* * *

_**Insert memory of mother here.**_

_

* * *

_


	6. Chapter 6

**A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots**

_Author_: Dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to _Electric Firefly_ and _Just Another Day on the Job, _though you don't necessarily need to read them to enjoy this fic.

_Author's Note. _Sorry it took me awhile to update all of my stories, real life keeps getting in the way. My muse is fighting to come back, hope to post updates for this story as well as my others soon! Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

* * *

**Diary Transcription.**

I met a nice mad today. He talks funny. Claude is special, just like me. Turns clear and disappears like a ghost. He said he is here to help me. I showed him my dolls and how I can melt them and burn their hair. He is different from the others. I like Claude. My invisible friend.

* * *

Elle discovered that her sparks are not the only natural weapon she possessed. Her sexuality had powerful influences over others. The way she can manipulate simply by batting her eyelashes. Soft touches, hesitant glances, and tight dresses are just as important as knives, guns, and her dangerous electrical ability.

The girl next door. The vixen. The dominatrix. The victim.

She learns every role and plays them out beautifully.

Sex is power.

Everyone has a weakness, and Elle can always find out your type.

* * *

**Doctor's Audio Log**.

**What happens when genius comes too early? Prodigies march to their own drummer. They make discoveries on their own and often intuit the solution to problems without going through a series of logical steps. Prodigies are driven by the rage to master. They have a powerful interest in the area, or domain, in which they have high ability, and they can readily focus so intensely on work in this domain, that they lose sense of the outside world. In the end it's ridiculous to attempt to separate genius from madness. The borderlines overlap. Either the lines are blurred. Or there are no lines. The truth is that we want to retain that spark of madness. We just want to focus it. Control it. And enable her to do so under our employ.**

* * *

_So they put her in a pumpkin shell,_

_And here they keep her very well._

* * *

The doctor was always trying to label me. Classify me. Pick my brain.

So I gave her a piece of it.

I opened up to her and it drove her mad. They put her in the loony bin where they can try to sort her out now.

The doctor needed to categorize me. Label me. Fit me in charts that define me.

I think we all see the world through our own reality map. A transparent graph from which we view life in order to navigate through it. Files, aliases, history of my story.

My life was on paper before her. The essence of 3-D me, captured on 2-D, for her to see.

However, much of the information she received had been classified. Censored. Forcing the poor little doctor to do her own detective work.

At first she classified me as nonverbal. Because I never spoke. 50 minute hour long sessions in silence.

Every movement was analyzed. As if it somehow described the nature of my thought process.

Some people view the labels as the objects themselves. They look at the labels and not what they modify. The nature of 2-D to 3-D is a deceptive one...when you pull away the graph, you see the things without the pre-conceptions. Some people call this enlightenment.

For many sessions we sat in what she thought was complete uncommunicative silence.

It wasn't until she reviewed the tapes of the sessions, watching from the eye of the camera, that she realized that I was speaking to her.

In one session she noticed my eyes blinking in irregular patterns.

Morse code.

The next day I spoke verbally. It disorients her so much that she has guards sit on either side of me. But I spoke for so long that they eventually fell asleep.

I lifted the veil. I took away the grid through which she viewed me. I unfolded her reality.

And I used my words to my advantage.

Sometimes it was misinformation. Disinformation. And arbitrary communication. My words were more effective at disorienting my opponent than silence.

It's all a verbal chess game.

Language is a grid which attempts to present abstract thoughts into definable data. And this doctor had so much data of me at her fingertips.

I spoke for days…inventing quite an auto-biography.

I constructed a wall of information using truth for mortar and bricking it together with outlandish falsehoods.

Cup after cup of coffee. She sat transfixed. Hypnotized. After working so hard for so long to glean meaning from almost no information. This overload of data was simply unchartable. All my answers posed larger questions.

First, I played her graph game. I communicated to her through coordinates that could be charted. Once she caught on to the rhythm of the coordinates… I changed them.

C-5, C-4, C-3, C-2, See One.

B-4, B-3, B-2, Be One.

I-3, I-2, I Won.

I sank her battleship.

Then I pulled the graph away, multiplying the possibilities instead of narrowing them.

These possibilities, whole and unlabeled, were too much for her to cope with in her rational scientific manner. Once she began to operate in the realm of irrational…. she became an inmate, herself.

She is my greatest conquest to date.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots**

_Author_: Dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to _Electric Firefly_ and _Just _

_Another Day on the Job, _though you don't necessarily need to read them to enjoy this fic.

_Author's Note. _Sorry it took me awhile to update all of my stories, real life keeps getting in the way. My muse is fighting to come back, hope to post updates for this story as well as my others soon! Un-betaed. Reviews=love.

* * *

**All of my childhood drawings of animals looked disfigured. Broken. Like me. Rejects. Abandoned by their parents. I didn't get to hang up my drawings of animals in kindergarten. Mine were not as good as the other children's.**

**Daddy immersed me in the training at a very young age. Under the tutelage of the Company's finest instructors, he groomed me for a position in his elite agency. I embraced the training, being an agent became my identity. It allowed me to become part of a group. I wanted to belong.**

**I am here, surrounded by hundreds of agents, doctors, and prisoners. They move together in a strange dance…. touching, laughing, sharing secrets. I am a lone wolf in a sea of strange sheep. They look at me, but do not see me.**

**I imagine that all my rejected animals became friends together.**

_

* * *

_

Psychiatry Session Video Recording and Transcription.

"I want to go home." The child mumbles, her voice shaky. Blond braids are tied with lime green ribbons, matching her baby doll dress.

"I know that a lot has been happening. But I want to ask you some questions, okay?"

"I want to go home." She repeats again, her voice steady now as she sits up straight. "I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home."

The psychiatrist's face is blank, revealing no reaction to the her client's protests. The little girl furrows her eyebrows, not getting the attention or reaction she anticipated.

The child screams, full throated and wild, as she slams her hands over and over on the plastic red children's table.

"I want to go home!!!!"

The doctor continues to ignore the child's demands. She slowly lays out a number of cards on the small table.

"Let's play a game."

The client sits up, her body language and affect changing completely. A wide smile is on her face, peering with intense interest at the large cards. She watches every single move of the psychiatrist with such intensity. After a moment, all of the cards are spread out on the table filled with images of children's faces.

"Elle, can you point to which card matches how you feel right now?"

Client stares at each card very carefully, studying the details of the images for a number of minutes before moving onto the next card. Finally, the young girl looks up with big eyes at the doctor, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't understand."

The psychiatrist picks up one of the cards and places it in front of the client.

"OK. Can you tell me what this boy in the picture might be feeling?"

The client picks up the card between her dainty fingertips, bringing it up close to her face.

"Um.…sad?" She bends the ends of the cards absentmindedly.

"And how you know the boy is sad?"

"Well, because he is sad. See…" Client moves her finger around in a circle on the image. "He's sad."

"What about this picture? What do you think the girl in this image is feeling?"

The client smiles widely, confidently, and doesn't look at the image.

"She's feeling silly."

"Silly? Tell me how you know she's feeling silly."

The client rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "She's feeling silly because this card game is silly. And because the doctor is silly."

"Can you show me which picture you are feeling right now, Elle?"

The client snorts to herself and moves back to inspect the cards in silence. After a number of frozen minutes, she jumps up and pushes the cards off the table.

"I don't like this game."

"Elle, which picture are you right now?"

Silence.

"Can't."

"Can't?"

"Ya, can't. Because I'm not like any of those cards."

"Oh?"

" 'Cause I'm special. That's what Daddy tells me."

"Special?"

"Not just with my sparks. I'm special for lots of reasons. Like I'm not like the rest of those kids in the pictures. I'm special because I'm not like them." She smiles widely, but the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Because I don't feel anything. So…then, do I get my own card?"

* * *

_Ding dong bell_

_Pussy's in the well_

_Who put her in?_

_Little Johnny Flynn_

_Who pulled her out?_

_Little Tommy Stout_

_What a naughty boy was that_

_Try to drown poor Pussycat,_

_Who ne'er did any harm _

_But killed all the mice_

_In the Farmer's barn!_

* * *

"Behave, Elle. I don't want a repeat of last year." Her father warns.

"I'll be on my best behavior, I promise Daddy." Elle holds up the boy scout salute. Bob Bishop sighs and rolls his eyes before wandering off into the crowd.

Elle mindlessly fumble with the satin red dress as she scans the crowd. The room is filled with pathetic creatures, dressed in their Sunday best. Elle casually glances behind her shoulder, only to meet the dark eyes of the creepy mute evolved human. Having the Haitian around makes it hard to cause any trouble.

Company holiday party. Every year, the executives and agents come together with their spouses and children and put on a big show. Elle half expects them all to break into song and dance.

For a Company that is suppose to sells paper, Elle finds it amusing that the event is so extravagant. Servants handing out expensive drinks and fancy food, musicians playing string instruments in the corner, and members of the executive board wearing designer clothing and decked out in giant diamonds. The employees look like well oiled killing machines in their shiny suits. At the very least, these idiots should suspect that their mommies and daddies are actually part of the Russian mafia.

Elle begins to stalk through the sea of people. They instinctively keep their distance from her like she has the plague. Even with the Haitian following her trail, they still fear her. The thought makes her smirk with satisfaction.

To her surprise and pure delight, she locates two dark haired teenagers in the corner of the room. Elle recognizes their faces from the family portraits of two very important Company founders.

She carefully studies them for a number of minutes from afar. The slightly taller brother has broad football shoulders, standing with confidence. The cocky, powerful ones are always fun to destroy and humiliate. But, then, the smaller, younger brother has smooth pale skin and is so painfully timid, uncomfortable, like a tiny weak lamb. A perfect toy to slaughter.

Elle steps forward to make her move, but is suddenly stopped by sharp nails on her arm.

"They are off limits, Elle." Mama Petrelli hisses into her ear before moving back towards her children.

Elle hungrily watches them the entire night with fascination and longing, but the cubs are well protected by their mother.

The electric teen whispers to herself with a half smile, "Next year, perhaps."

* * *

**Solitary confinement. Again. Why is it that whenever I almost destroy the universe, everyone gets upset?**


	8. Chapter 8

**A leopard cannot change it's spots**

_Author_: Dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to _Electric Firefly_ and _Just __Another Day on the Job, _though you don't necessarily need to read them to enjoy this fic.

_Author's Note. _Reviews=love

* * *

_Tell me about your mother._

I already did.

_But tell me that story again._

There's not much to tell. As you know she's dead. I don't remember anything about her.

Is your mother alive, doc? Are you a mother? You got any pink, pudgy kiddies?

Babies are strange creatures.

Mini-humans, except their heads are too big for their bodies.

Compared to most species, human infants cannot survive without their mother.

Like fucking parasites.

And to make matters worse, the trend is that well-educated individuals are no longer breeding, only idiot rednecks.

These idiots are breeding more idiots, adding to the millions and millions of worthless bodies.

Bodies that destroy the environment, using up all of the resources, so that they can attempt to work towards this ideal of happiness that is spoon fed by the hands of fat corporate executives.

Humans are simply going through the motions of their pointless, unfulfilled lives, striving to reach something that is not even attainable.

And now, to further complicate this cosmic joke, we have evolved humans - "specials"- showing up more and more every year.

Maybe evolution is finally catching up to the fact that the dominant, overpopulated species of idiots need to be wiped out.

Survival of the fittest really.

Kill out the infection that is the human race.

And back to our original discussion regarding my mother.

Maybe I "unconsciously" recognized this deep existential dilemma at such a young, tender age and began my quest to cleanse the world as my right and duty of the new, superior species. And it just happened that I started with mommy dearest. So now, doc, I wonder, what would Freud think about all of this?

* * *

_Lizzie Borden took an axe_

_And gave her mother forty whacks._

_When she saw what she had done_

_She gave her father forty-one._

* * *

Agent Psychological Profile Summary:

Heavy dependency issues are evident in Ms. Bishop, likely stemming from a fractured relationship with her father. This may make her susceptible to infiltration by an agent posing as a confidant or father figure. Her socio-behavioral skills are underdeveloped, to say the least, as she was been raised in a captive and isolated environment from age nine. Concepts of personal space and a tendency towards impulsive behavior are hallmarks of this, both of which she exhibits profoundly. Elle also displays sociopathic tendencies; a trait that manifests itself in the joy she receives from delivering electric shocks to other captives and agents within the Company without any sense of remorse.

* * *

**Agent Audio Recording Transcription.**

"What's the mission?"

"Looking into a security breach. That's all I know. All they told me."

"That's all they told you to tell me. But what you know is considerably more. You're not as good a liar as you think."

"You're the security breach."

"Is that what they call me behind my back? I always thought it would be something a bit more subtle or a pun at lease--"

"Is it true? Are you hiding one of them?"

"By them, you mean people like me? Is that you are accusing me of hiding? Well the short answer is yes, isn't it."

"You've compromised what we're doing."

"I'm sorry. I know we're saving the greater good. But it's been keeping me up at night. Seeing as you're raising one of them as your own I thought you'd have more sympathy."

"Claire is not one of you."

"Not yet, but one day maybe. And don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"If she is, I'll take her in and it's done."

"Oh, just like that? Father of the year you are."

"I know who I work for."

"So do I. I was in your office when they told you to kill me."

"Then why did you get in the car?"

"Evidently I think you're a better man than they are."

"Get out."

"It's not the first time you've been told to kill a man. But is it the first time you've been told to kill a friend?"

"Tell me who it is and we'll forget about the rest."

"You're going to do it. You're just going to off me like nothing--"

"It's not like nothing. We find these people, that's what we do. And you buried one. You acted against the interests of the Company."

"You ever stop to think what those interests are?"

"Who is it?"

"And what if it was Claire? That's why you're so distant from her. You know you're going to turn her in. You're preparing for it."

"You used to believe in what we do."

"I used to believe in the tooth fairy."

"We made a promise. Both of us."

"I will not hunt my own people."

"Who is it?!"

"Why do you ask questions when you know the answer, mate?"

"Bishop's daughter."

"I came back to the Company to keep the lass alive. And after what I've seen done to her, the only way to keep her safe is to get her out. Elle is well protected and I'm not giving her up. End of story."

_Sound of gun fire._

* * *

After a month of baby sitting little miss Pom Pom, Elle wants to punch her in the face. She loathes that Blondie has a family, a mommy and daddy that love her. The agent despises that the indestructible girl has the perfect little life filled with happy memories of cheerleading, unicorns, and rainbows. Elle would never admit out loud to herself or to others that she is jealous. Elle openly hates the tween. Not the burning hatred of a normal person, but the cold hate of a sociopath. Cold hate never dies, never wavers. The beast fantasies clawing out her eyes… but Elle figures that the immortal will probably just grow new ones. At least that's what happened with good ol' Adam Monroe.


	9. Chapter 9

**A leopard cannot change it's spots**

_Author_: Dela26

_Rating_: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop

_Summary_: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to _Electric Firefly_ and _Just __Another Day on the Job, _though you don't necessarily need to read them to enjoy this fic.

_Author's Note. _Un-betaed. I love trying out different writing styles to capture the dark history and psychotic nature of my favorite electric firecracker. Reviews=love!!!!

* * *

_**Research Notes.**_

The subject has the ability of electrical generation and manipulation. It is still unclear how the evolved human is able to create and control the energy. Subject verbally reported: "Like breathing, my sparks just happen naturally." Our first experiment revealed that the she is able to power a light bulb. Several follow up studies were conducted to determine the full extent of her ability. One of the evolved agents ensures that the subject does not have any conscious memory of the experiments, although it is speculated that the subject demonstrates unconscious knowledge and potentially procedural or implicit memory. For example, experimenters have subjectively noted that the client becomes increasingly agitated when she is in laboratory settings or interacts with research team members within the Company, but she does not have any conscious memory to support her paranoia. Upon entering puberty, the subject's ability further evolved to unexpected heights. Most recent recording reveals that she can transform her entire physical makeup into pure electrical energy and is able to experience a connection and sense of control of all surrounding entities that possess electrical power. Additionally, when at its peak, the intense currents of the subjects electrical ability allows her to create a fleeting but very strong magnetic field (see electromagnetism test notes for more details). It is unknown how much energy she can create, manipulate and control. Upon her recent display of her ability, it was decided by the Executive Board that the subject's psychological instability makes her a liability in the face of such power. Intel reveals that the founders were considering extermination, for fear that she would become a threat to the Company. All current and future planned studies with the subject have been put on hold until further notified.

* * *

She came barging into the cell, soaked with sweat, blood, and newly formed bruises flowering upon her lily white skin. She's wearing tattered blue clothing, singed with black ash. I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her unusual appearance.

"Hey, you." She tries to smile, but her lips are too damaged.

"What happened?"

"Just a little curve ball in my day, nothing out of the ordinary." She leans against the door, arms crossed.

"What do you want, Elle?" I ask, but I already know the answer.

"You know what I want." She easily reads me.

I raise an eyebrow and taunt, "Daddy not giving you a booster shot?"

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. And you know which one I prefer." Her voice is neutral, bored, as if she were talking about the weather.

"You've always had such a naughty obsession with pain."

She pushes her body off the wall and begins to walk with confident, liquid grace around the cell. Even with such a broken body, she moves smoothly like a dancer...or a large predatory cat. "Which makes our relationship so perfect, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't call it a relationship."

"Potato, Patato." She shrugs indifferently.

The closer she comes, the more I take in her appearance. Her normally bouncy, shiny blond hair is dirty, crusted with dried blood. Dark circles under her eyes are a startling contrast to her pale white shin. Newly formed bruises spread interesting shades of blue, purple, and yellow across her left check and jaw. Her tattered clothing appears to be the remains of blue hospital gown.

"What have you gotten yourself into, love?" I ask, surprised at my concern of the sociopath.

"You mean... what have I gotten myself _out _of?" She answers cryptically.

Her eyes suddenly sparkle and she's all smiles, her face lights up as if someone turned on a switch. The sudden change is startling. She begins to sing, "_When you think things are bad, when you feel sour and blue, when you start to get mad. You should do what I do_…."

"Elle..." I cautiously hold out my hands in surrender.

The familiar sharp pain fills my body. The room turns bright blue from her electrical outburst. I can hear her laughter faintly over the sound of electricity and my screams.

The petite special is suddenly on top of me, straddling her legs around my waist. She stares down at me, eyes wide and shining. Her lips find mine and -God help me- I kiss her back. She bites down hard on my bottom lip. The taste of metallic blood fills my mouth. Elle jerks her head back and laughs, teeth stained with red as her skin slowly knits back to its smooth perfection.

A team of agents burst into the room and yank the insane special off of me. She doesn't attempt to fight back, her body is limp and dead weight as they drag her towards the door. She has a lazy grin on her face, like a well fed cat.

I stay frozen on the floor.

"Thanks for the little pick me up, Adam. You and me, we'll play again real soon. I'll return the favor."

Her laughter echoes throughout the hallway, sending chills down my back.

* * *

"I understand that Scissors can beat Paper.

And I get how Rock can beat Scissors.

But there's no fucking way Paper can beat Rock.

Paper is supposed to magically wrap around Rock leaving it immobile?

Why the hell can't paper do this to scissors?

Screw scissors, why can't paper do this to people?

Why isn't notebook paper constantly suffocating students while they take notes in class?

I'll tell you why: because paper can't beat anybody; a rock would tear that shit up in 2 seconds.

When I play rock/paper/scissors, I always choose rock.

Then when somebody claims to beat me with their paper, I can punch them in the face with my already clenched fist and say, 'Oh shit, I'm sorry. I thought paper would protect you. Idiot!'

Wait….what was the original question, doc?"

* * *

Bad specials, beware. The Company sends me out to do the dirty work. Daddy's ruthless, lethal agent. The best of the best.

And then one day _he _showed up. The big bad serial killer. Claiming to be the most special of us all.

**Who am I? They call me the Executioner. Silly, that's your cue for being scared. **

* * *

_I love to dance, dilly, dilly, I love to sing;_

_When I am queen, dilly, dilly, You'll be my king._

_Who told me so, dilly, dilly, Who told me so?_

_I told myself, dilly, dilly, I told me so._


End file.
